


BRAN DAVIES: CELEBRITY CHEF

by forochel



Category: Dark Is Rising Sequence - Susan Cooper
Genre: Gen, welshcakes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-16
Updated: 2012-03-16
Packaged: 2017-11-02 00:59:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/363263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forochel/pseuds/forochel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Will is surprised, and also hungry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	BRAN DAVIES: CELEBRITY CHEF

Will switched on the television and settled back into the cushions with a sigh. It had been a hard day's work, Watching the world bollocks everything up and, despite all the Book of Gramarye had to say about flying with the hawk and swimming with the tuna, not having the economic wherewithal to understand all the talk about dot com bubbles bursting and currencies crashing and whatnot. His knees and the backs of his thighs ached, too, from a whole day of trowelling in a deep, cold trench about six miles away from his little cottage. A good hot bath, Will thought, once the heating had got going, would take care of that. Not the economy, though.

He flipped through the channels idly, paying only cursory attention to the telly whilst ruminating on supper, when a nostalgically familiar lilting voice saying "now I don't expect you to understand this, being English —" jerked him out of his pleasant thoughts and made him gape. 

"Good grief," said Will aloud to the walls of his sitting room, which were decorated with handaxes and sundry bits of worked flint, Will having gone into a flint specialisation after his degree in Archaeology. The flints were accompanied by cheery little paintings done by his plethora of nieces and nephews, most of whom he saw once a year down in Bucks for Christmas. "Is that what the Matter of Britain has come to?"

For there was Bran Davies in all his arrogant glory brandishing a skillet imperiously at the cameraman on telly and berating the general public for not understanding how to cook their own cuisine. None of this globe-trotting nonsense for Mister Davies, who also occasionally graced the eisteddfords with his harp playing and catering. 

"Well," Will continued to himself (and his obliging walls), "that certainly explains the lack of any mention of his name in the Plaid Cymru or the UN. It's amazing how things turn out." 

It turned out, in fact, that Bran was making Welshcakes, for the enlightenment and entertainment of the UK.

Will felt a faint tug of nostalgia for Mrs Idris Ty-bont Jones's Welshcakes (she got a mention from Bran, in an aside about the maternal touch) as Bran beat the flour and eggs together to the time of a lecture about devolving power to Wales. Will reconsidered the Plaid Cymru connection. He also ruthlessly quashed the nostalgia, as well as the fleeting thought of going to Wales to see how everyone was doing. Already his family were calling him "well-preserved" - at the perfectly decent age of thirty-six! - and asking him if he had a Ring hidden about his person. Will watched dolefully as Bran transferred a series of perfectly formed Welshcakes off the griddle and onto a plate with a quicksilver grin and witticism about Tan y Castell. 

"Damn you, Davies," grumbled Will, "now I want some too." 

Possibly particularly those made by Bran, especially since the thought of acquiring a griddle was too much for Will. He wondered, in a fit of whimsy, how Bran would take to be rung up by an old friend about a special commission for Welshcakes. Perhaps Jane Drew might have Bran's telephone number. Laughing quietly at himself, Will levered himself out of his armchair and went off to have a bath.


End file.
